


Jiggy.

by nomdeplvme



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Rumple Buttercup: A Story of Bananas Belonging and Being Yourself - Matthew Gray Gubler
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe, Alternative Lifestyles, Dom Spencer Reid, Established Relationship, F/M, Gaslighting, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Past Abuse, Religion, Religious Conflict, Sad Spencer Reid, Song Lyrics, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29268555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomdeplvme/pseuds/nomdeplvme
Summary: Sarah, Matthew, and a world against the two. Parents with expectations, and children of direct contrast.The air has color, the colors have taste, and words manipulate both air and color. Matthew changes the taste, changes the air, changes everything, and Sarah is left to identify this new world. Matthew is left to communicate through colors, communicate through tastes, and try to speak to the deaf.
Relationships: Matthew Gray Gubler/Original Character, Matthew Gray Gubler/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid & Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Original Character(s), Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Dismal Disarray

**Author's Note:**

> heyhi this is a dt for my friend vienna/soul/bee/jess lolz enjoy dude, and anyone else who stumbles across this mess :)

**_I'm getting jiggy with a rifle_**  
  
"Matt, please, you know better than to believe him,"  
  
**_I'll pull the trigger with my eyes closed_**  
  
"It doesn't matter, I still have to live with him every day. I have to every fucking day until I'm 18,"  
  
**_hoping to hit you somewhere vital_**  
  
"Matthew..."  
  
the click of the trigger, and then silence.  
  
**_and when I miss_**  
  
"I.. Sarah... I'm so sorry,"  
  
**_you come and kiss me with a smile_**  
  
"I understand, it's okay,"


	2. The Old Testament.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone who is blind but believes they can see is delusional. A person who cannot see divinity, yet spreads their hatred justified by such, is simply a man of faith.

Church. What comes to your mind when you think of that word? I suppose it really depends on your personal beliefs, whether you're a Mormon, doing everything in your power to follow a set of rules for the chance of getting into a special club, or an atheist, doing anything to make life enjoyable while you're here, whether you make it to that club or not. I'm in that wonderful middle ground, not that I wish to be. My dad was never really a strong believer in Christianity, but sometimes things change. After my mom died, his desperation for closure to his grief fell upon reading the bible. Cover to cover. I guess that's what made something click in him, and now his sorry ass truly believes in a mass produced book of dog shit. That if he chains himself to some rules a misogynistic idiot wrote to shut his wife up- he can see his dead wife in heaven. Or... something like that. Either way, every Sunday -rather than lay in bed, mentally preparing myself for the next day of school- I wake up extra early and dress to my dad's idea of modesty. Once I meet his standards of proper apparel, I seat myself in the coldest room on earth while some fat 50 year old man talks about why we should give all our money to the church- to prove we trust God with our funds, of course. It's not the end of the world, just. well. a _major _inconvenience.

"Sarah, we're leaving in 5 minutes, hurry up," my dad rushed past my room, adjusting his tie, and not even once stopping to glance into my room. As I slipped on my outfit, I couldn't help but take in the odd atmosphere of this Sunday in particular. It might've been the relief of spring break, but even then- the air was too clear, too soft, too comforting to be that of just a school break. Nonetheless, I found myself out of the house and seated in my dad's car. My mom hated red pickup trucks. She always got grumpy whenever we drove near one, and reasonably enough. It seemed like that of a phenomenon, how almost every red pickup truck had so much nerve. My mom would always say the men drive with their dicks, and the red pickup drivers were just the worst type. Her belief reigned true, even with my dad. He cursed silently at the car, even as we moved from out of the driveway. 

As we drove along dirt roads, I looked down at my folded hands. My thumbs fidgeted with one another, pushing back and forth, fighting for dominance. The state of my content mind was prominent, and I couldn't help but wonder what I might've missed. I've become accustomed to doing that. If I'm happy, even in the slightest, I begin to wonder how much longer it will be before something breaks the moment. My happiness is never consistent, never long enough, never truly comforting, and I doubt it ever will be. Of course, as if I had manifested it into existence, the forgotten events of today had resurfaced. The realization had set in once my dad drove past the church, and straight towards the public park. The annual picnic. One day of every year, I find a bench as far from the crowd as possible, then enjoy sitting alone for hours on end. Instantly, my mood plummeted. I wanted more than anything to rip the car door open and make a break for it. I would rather perform center stage, in front of the whole church- than tolerate this. 

The time I spent plotting my escape wasn't any help though, as we pulled into the parking lot, amongst hoards of copy-paste suburban families. Before even leaving the car I had set my eyes on my target. A bench sat between two trees, out in an open field away from the crowd. The moment I stepped from the car I was already sprint-walking away. If my dad had called for me, it never processed once. My eyes were glued to my target, the single sanctuary in which I would abide for the day. As I approached the bench, already preparing to seat myself, a boy sat down just as I did. It didn't process at first, what had happened, let alone who this person was.

"Hey, I'm Matthew," he smiled, but it wasn't genuine. It was the smile churches taught you to give people, to lure them into weekly bible studies and baptism. I knew the artificial smile all too well, the lingering positivity it left. It was odd though, the aftertaste of the air. Usually, the soccer mom who shot you a smile would leave an aggressive aftertaste. The leftover stinging feeling, as if they weren't mad, just disappointed. But this kid, Matthew, didn't leave that taste. Something about the air was dismal. Melancholic. There was an undertone of something I had never felt before.

"Sarah," I surprised myself with how normal my tone played. How I was even capable of responding to such an odd interaction, let alone with such a content composure. It seemed like the smile never left his face. Even as he allowed his lips to rest in place, the faux positivity remained in the air. "Have we met?" if I hadn't shocked myself before, I definitely had now. Never once in my life did I think I might initiate a conversation with a member of my church. Never even once did I think I might speak more than a few words to the trust fund kids of my town. The overwhelming curiosity towards this boy though- was something unavoidable. Knowing about him, digging into the unknown, was a compulsion not worth fighting.

"I'm the pastor's kid, so- we might've passed each other once or twice," his voice was warm and soft. It was as if the comfort of this morning was rebuilding itself, and he was the support lifting me back up. His voice alone was something I had never experienced before. The oddity of his involuntary charm was more than intriguing.

"Oh- yeah, I've seen you before-" I waited for my mind to piece a sentence together. "Pastor's kid?" not a sentence, but it worked nonetheless.

"Yeah, a real honor," sarcasm. The church's poster child, and not by choice. It made sense, but I knew better than to push the wrong buttons.

"I think my dad's pretty close with yours," I didn't think that, it was a fact- I knew it. They spoke so long and so often you may as well think they were having a gay affair. "It's weird we haven't talked before, come to think of it," a stupid choice of words, though it was too late to rewrite the already spoken. 

"You're right," he seemed to sit on the thought for a moment, deciding on his response. "Why not change that?" he smiled. The same smile as before- but more warming, more genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foams at mouth hrnbgngfgggffff barkbark bark mmrmrg grrrr ruff rwoof woof

**Author's Note:**

> omg what u made it to the end bestie? love u so much mwah mwah mwah !! kisses u asf !! tysm for tolerating this garbage arhhghhffn


End file.
